Bit by Bit
by LilyIsAwesomerThanYou
Summary: "If you help me, I'll care. And I'm done with caring." When Harry goes to Hogwarts, he finds it to be almost no different than home with the Dursleys. No one cares about him. Rated T for language and slight depression. ON HIATUS DUE TO LOSS OF FILES
1. Prologue

**A/N - So, it's been a long time since I've posted anything. Anyway, I hope it's good. R+R!**

**Disclaimer - I do NOT own the characters or locations. The plot, however, is all mine. :)**

**Prologue**

These stone walls seem to close in on me. They press in on every side, restricting me. I am in a place I don't want to be, with people I don't want to see. Some are civil. They greet me kindly and try to chat about trivial things that I don't care about. Others hate me; they watch with scornful eyes.

The eyes of the portraits on the wall watch me; they stare at my back as I turn. I can feel their searching looks, giving me the feeling that they know more about me than I know about myself.

People here care but I can't seem to find a way to understand why. No one has ever cared for me, so why do they? I'm quite used to it. I no longer expect someone to turn and help when I fall. It is not expected of anyone to care about my well-being. I'm confused. I know no other way of life. I was raised to be independent.

My life is mine and it rests in my hands. I don't need your help and I don't want your interference. I want to be left alone.

If you help me, I'll care. And I'm done with caring.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N - So, here's Chapter 1. :) R+R**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the characters or locations. The plot, however, is all mine. :)**

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Chapter 1

I'm the boy with the big green eyes and the hair that won't stay in place. I'm the boy who's too thin and too pale, because I grew up in a cupboard. I'm the boy with all the scars, because I hold the wizarding world on my shoulders. I'm Harry Potter.

And if there's any question as to who I am, all I have to do is raise my fringe. Oh, yes, the scar. The Boy-Who-Lived. The bloody Chosen One. The one who made Lord Voldemort mysteriously disappear when he was only a baby. Oh, I know _him._

I'm only eleven. After my parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort, he tried to kill me. But somehow, the curse rebounded on him, and I was left alive. I was sent to live with my mother's sister and her family.

My aunt is not a good-looking woman. She is thin and bony, with a long neck used exclusively for spying on the neighbors. Her face looks remarkably like a horse. _That_ is Petunia Dursley.

My uncle, Vernon Dursley, is even worse. He is fat and beefy, with almost no neck. His face is big and blotchy and he has mean little eyes. Sometimes, when he gets mad, he narrows his eyes so much they seem to sink into his head and the fat covers them up. But if I ever said that to him, he'd beat me senseless.

That being said, it is easy to see that they are related to their son, Dudley Dursley. Dudley looks like his father. He is fat and loves to eat. His favorite hobby is hitting me, but I'm faster than him and can usually get away. Once he broke my glasses though, right on the bridge of the nose. Aunt Petunia taped them up, but they're still awfully flimsy. Maybe when I get to Hogwarts I can get someone to fix them.

My aunt and uncle don't like me. They have always spoiled Dudley. He gets all the gifts and all the attention. Hell, I've never even received a birthday gift.

But now, I've got something _way_ better than a single birthday gift. I've got a wand and an owl and a ticket to get on the train to Hogwarts.

Last month, I received a letter in the mail for the first time. It was from a school called Hogwarts. My aunt and uncle hadn't let me read it. Uncle Vernon had snatched it away with one big, beefy hand and scanned the address with his eyes. The more he read, the purpler his face became.

"Give it here! Give it here!" I had cried, jumping up and reaching towards it with desperate hands. He slapped me hard across the face and my jumping came to a sudden halt as my glasses flew off my face and tumbled to the floor. I immediately dropped to my knees and groped about for them. As soon as my hand came into contact with the cold metal that it had been searching for, I straightened and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

"No," he growled. "This letter was misaddressed."

"No, it's not! It's mine, not yours! Give it back!" I jumped once more to show how much I wanted to read my letter.

"That's effing enough!" he burst out. The letter went soaring through the air as he threw his hands up in anger. I prepared myself to spring up and catch it, but I was abruptly interrupted by Uncle Vernon's powerful fists. He hit me again and again — in the ribs, almost certainly breaking a few; in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me; and in the face, breaking my glasses. The lens cracked and they fell to the floor once again.

I bit my lip bloody as I struggled not to make a sound. I felt as if I would lose consciousness at any moment. Uncle Vernon lifted me up by the collar and slammed me up against the door of my cupboard (yes, I live in a cupboard). I let out a tiny whimper and he slammed me up against the door again.

"Don't you _ever_ defy me again, do you hear?" he hissed. I almost didn't hear him. I was staring at the floor and struggling to stay awake. When I didn't provide him with a prompt answer, he slammed me up against the door again. "_DO YOU HEAR?_"

"Yes. Yes," I whimpered, slumping. He let me fall to the ground, hard. I lay there for a moment before he picked me up again, this time by the neck. He raised me up slowly, strangling me. I was pressed up against the wall as he cut off my wind pipe. My feet began kicking out everywhere, trying to hit him and make him let go. I succeeded only in smashing my feet into the wall multiple times, until I was exhausted. My feet hurt terribly now and Uncle Vernon just kept pressing harder and harder against my wind pipe. Darkness was playing at the edges of my vision.

"What the _hell_ are you doing in there, you little...?" Aunt Petunia trilled as she stomped towards the stairs. But when she saw what was truly happening, she gasped. "Vernon! VERNON! Stop it! You'll kill him! Do you know what that will mean for our family? VERNON! LISTEN TO ME!"

After a warning from my uncle that was growled into my throbbing ear, he let me go. I immediately crumpled. I wanted to get up — to pull myself to my feet, not only to swagger about the house and say that I could take anything Uncle Vernon threw at me, but also to just get to my cupboard — to stagger inside and collapse on the little dirty cot that was my bed. But since I was unable to do either, I was left on the ground in a little puddle of my own blood. I would stay collapsed on the ground, next to my glasses that were in an equal state of disrepair, all night.

Well, surprisingly enough, my aunt and uncle had ended up taking me to the hospital. I think that they were scared that I would die if I wasn't cared for properly. They told the doctors that I had suffered a bad biking accident. But that didn't explain the finger-shaped bruises on my neck. I don't think they ever mentioned it, though.

That was the first time I've ever been to the hospital. I've never received medical care from a professional before. But Uncle Vernon has never beaten me that severely in the past. Or maybe it's because someone in the world would have noticed that I was gone — now that I've had contact with the wizarding world, that is. Whatever the reason, I still have the scars.

Now you understand why I have to go to Hogwarts — why I can't wait. Hogwarts is a chance to get away from my relatives _and_ learn about magic! What could be better than that?


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N - Sorry it took so long. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:**** Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story.**

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Chapter 2

Rain pounded down outside the windows of the scarlet train. They left streaks on the windows, until the glass was so covered in tiny droplets of water that the country view outside was completely blurred. And as it got darker and darker outside, the less I was able to see.

The good-byes had been awkward, to say the least. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had come simply to keep up a good appearance. Their voices had been stiff, almost as if they were wishing a painful death on me, one fitting for a "freak" like me. That's what they had called me, time and time again, leading up to the car ride to King's Cross. I was glad to be rid of them. I'm sure my hasty and meaningless good-byes had showed it.

So far, the train ride had been pleasant. It had been interesting and exciting to see people like me — _wizards_ and _witches_. I had seen plenty at Diagon Alley with Hagrid, but these were the people that I would be living with for most of the year.

I've never been much of a social person, and the blame for that flaw can be inevitably placed upon the Dursleys. The clothes I was forced to wear and the way they gossiped about me created a bad reputation for me on Privet Drive. Whispers followed me everywhere along the street. Naturally, people wouldn't talk to me. The only conversations I participated in were with my relatives or myself, neither of which helped improve my social skills in any way, shape, or form.

Platform 9 3/4 had been interesting, and the fact that I was required to walk through a brick wall to reach it was unexpected. Never before had I seen so many wizards and witches gathered in one place. It was fascinating, and I couldn't help myself — I found myself staring. Most of the adults standing around were dressed in robes, just like the black ones I had in my trunk to change into later. The others were dressed in muggle clothes, like me and most of the other children. They looked awkward and strangely out of place; their faces revealed their discomfort. They shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, looking awkwardly from one face to the next, then at the train, then the ground, until their gaze came to rest on their child. Then their countenance seemed to relax a bit and they'd give a tiny smile to try to soothe their son or daughter. At least exiting was simpler than entering, or they would probably be completely lost. One simply had to stroll through a wide archway and they would find themselves back inside the confusing world of muggle Britain.

My train of thought was interrupted by the clumsy entrance of a tall, freckled boy with fiery red hair that was thoroughly disheveled. He collapsed onto a seat and threw his paper bag on the ground beneath his feet. I gave him a curious look.

"My mum," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She makes a big fuss whenever we go away to Hogwarts. I'm going to be a first year. I reckon you're going to be one too. What house do you want to get into? I'm going to be a Gryffindor. My entire family has been."

"Houses?"

"Muggleborn?"

"No, I just—"

"Don't worry about it. Tons of people here are. There are four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and last and most definitely least — Slytherin. Every first year is sorted. That's where you stay for all seven years at Hogwarts. They're like your family, I guess."

"What if I don't get into any of the houses?" I questioned, worried and apprehensive.

"Not possible," he replied quickly as he reached into his bag and pulled out a small box. I let out a sigh of relief as he straightened.

"What's that?" I pointed to the box in his hand. He began opening it.

"Chocolate Frog." He held up the wriggling frog-shaped piece of chocolate and showed me. "Wanna try one? Don't worry, it's not an actual frog."

"Oh, well then, yes," I said with a smile. He pulled out another box and handed it to me as he stuffed the other into his mouth. He grinned at me and I laughed. The chocolate was all in his teeth.

"I'm Ron Weasley," he said, grinning again. He wiped his chocolate-covered fingers on his pants and stuck his hand out. I shook it politely. Ron looked down into the bag again.

"I'm Harry Potter." Ron straightened so fast I heard his back crack. His eyes flashed up to my hairline and back down to my eyes.

"_The_ Harry Potter?" he choked out.

"I reckon there's only one Harry Potter in the world." I smiled shyly.

"Can I — Could I see your scar? It's legendary, you know," he murmured, his deep blue eyes fixated on my forehead. I pulled my hair away for a moment before letting it fall. He stared. "Wow. So what's it like to be _the_ Harry Potter?"

"I don't really know. I just found out that I'm a wizard a month ago. I'm still kind of getting used to the feeling."

Just then, someone walked in. He looked more sophisticated than Ron. His platinum hair was neatly slicked back, and his pale features were sharp, from his pointed chin to his upturned nose. His robes were velvet. They were emerald green, with silver fastenings that looked suspiciously like snakes.

"You'll have to take those off, you know. Everyone's robes have to be black," Ron stated.

"Shut up, Weasley. No one wants you here. You're only jealous because you know that your parents are dirt-poor and could never afford robes as expensive as these. Bloody hell, are those supposed to be your _robes_? Just kidding," the snobby boy drawled, "I already knew that you couldn't afford anything new."

"Back off, Malfoy. Clearly _someone_ wants me here. I was having a pleasant conversation with Harry here before _you_ showed up."

Malfoy turned towards me quickly.

"Harry? As in, Harry Potter? Pleased to meet you. I'm Draco Malfoy." Draco stuck out his pale hand, and I shook it hesitantly. "Some families, like the Weasleys," he continued, jerking his head toward Ron, "aren't as good as the rest of us. I can help you with that." He smirked and stuck his hand out again. I eyed it critically before looking up and searching his eyes.

"I. . . I don't know. I mean, Ron's nice and all."

"Of course he's nice to _you,_" Draco drawled loftily, waving an airy hand. "_You're_ Harry Potter."

"Yes, er, so, did you grow up with wizards?"

"Of course! I'm a _Malfoy_; you know, one of the best and oldest pureblood families in the magical world!"

Draco plopped down next to Harry, eyeing Ron with disdain.

"I'm going to be in Slytherin. What house will you be in?"

"_I_ am —" Ron began, but Draco rudely cut him off.

"I know where _you're_ going to be." He looked Ron up and down. "A Weasley? Gryffindor, for sure."

"I'm not sure. I think that they all have their good points."

"Well said. Say, do you want to come sit with me? You'd be with _much_ better company than this."

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. "Coming in and taking away someone's friend! You're as rude as your arrogant father!"

"Language, Weasley. So, Harry, what do you say?"

"Er, why don't you bring your friends in here? That way, we can all be together." This was a very awkward situation, and Ron seemed like a much better friend than Draco.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco sneered. "Who would want to sit with _that_ scum? It's either out of here or not at all."

"Sorry, but I think I'll stay here." I tried to send him an apologetic glance, but he had already turned around.

"Very well. Suit yourself. But I'll have you know," he said, turning towards me again, "you don't want to have me as an enemy." With those words, Draco turned and left, slamming the compartment door as he went.

"Damn, he's rude. And arrogant. But then again, he's a Malfoy," Ron said, watching the glass door bounce back. I got up and closed it more gently. "If I ended up in Slytherin with _that_ git, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know," I replied absently, staring out the window again.

"What do you say to another chocolate frog?" Ron asked awkwardly, trying to make small talk. I looked over and grinned.

"Sure."

With Ron, the time passed quickly. Before I knew it, the train was pulling up to a dark station. I squinted through the darkness and saw a sign that said 'Hogsmeade Station.' I turned to Ron.

"Hogsmeade?"

"It's the only all-magical town in Britain. We can't visit until third year though."

I stood up and followed the herd of people off the train. Outside, we all stood on the platform. It was easy to see who was a first year and who had been here before. The first years huddled close together and looked around curiously.

"FIRST YEARS! OVER HERE! FIRST YEARS!" came a booming voice. I turned and saw Hagrid, and ran over to him.

"Hagrid!"

"'lo, Harry. Did you have fun on the train?"

"Yes, it was brilliant! This is Ron, Hagrid. Ron Weasley!" I cried, pointing excitedly to Ron, who was standing uncomfortably to my left.

"Weasley? Look jus' like yer brothers, ya do," Hagrid boomed, pounding Ron on the back and making his wince. "What do you say we get up ter Hogwarts?"

Hagrid led us to some boats and we sat in them quietly. They began moving over the dark water and we looked around. The lights of Hogwarts were before us, reflecting off the water and making it look as if there were yellow lights from within the lake.

"Harry? Harry! Are you seeing this? This is amazing!"

"I know!"

We were all disappointed when we reached the shore. Each of us carefully stepped out and onto the sand, but a rather large boy with brown hair tripped over the side of the boat and fell into the cold water. Hagrid ran over and picked him up, wrapping him in a very large moleskin coat.

Hagrid led the way up to the castle, and we followed, almost running to keep up. Ron kept sneaking glances at the shivering boy who had fallen into the lake, sniggering.

When we reached the huge doors of the school, I looked up in awe. The top of the door was way above my head. Hagrid opened the doors and said, "This is as far as I go. The rest is up to Professor McGonagall. He clapped me and Ron on the back one last time before shutting the doors behind us and walking down the damp hill.

Before long, the doors to the left of us opened, revealing a strict looking woman with her hair up in a bun. She held a stool in her hand and an old rag.

"First years? Please follow me. You will be sorted shortly. We filed into the Great Hall, some children waving to friends and older siblings, others looking very, very terrified. I was a bit nervous myself.

Professor McGonagall explained how to be sorted and began reading off names.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Draco strutted up to the stool and placed the old hat on his head. Without a moment's hesitation, it cried, "Slytherin!" The Slytherin table stood and clapped loudly as Draco made his way over to the secluded table. No one else made a sound.

"Potter, Harry."

Whispers rose on every side of me as I walked hesitantly up to the old wooden stool and placed the hat upon my head.

"Why so nervous?" the hat asked. It debated with itself for a few more minutes before finally coming to a decision — a very unexpected decision.

"Slytherin!"

A hush swept through the school, and for the first time since I'd arrived, the Great Hall was silent.

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	4. Chapter 3

**Okay, so I'm REALLY sorry it took so long, but my life has been busy recently. I know that it isn't a good reason, but it's what happened. Now, I'm going to try to have at least one new chapter up every week.**

**Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter. Everything belongs to JK Rowling except the plot(thats MINE :D)**

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Chapter 3

The feast was delicious. Dumbledore had given his speech and suddenly loads of food appeared on the table. It was more food than I had ever seen before, and much more delicious than any I had ever eaten. There were huge steaming turkeys and hot buttered corn. Chicken wings were piled high on golden plates and tantalizing desserts covered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce were lined up in careful rows.

I piled much more than I could eat onto my plate and began eating in earnest. It was delicious.

I sat at the end of the table, away from everyone else. Draco sat by his friends and the rest of the Slytherins stayed far away from me, so I was completely alone. It wasn't a new feeling.

After all the food had disappeared from the tables, the prefects led us to the common room. I made my way down to the common room beneath the lake. Everyone else filed in before me, and I was the last to walk in. The light seemed to be greenish, and it made me feel strangely uncomfortable.

Everyone avoided me, but I could hear their whispers.

"Is that _the_ Harry Potter?"

"No, it can't be. _The_ Harry Potter can't be a _Slytherin_."

"I think it is! Look at the scar!"

Every time, their dark eyes would flicker to my hairline, but then I'd look at them and they would turn around hastily, anxious not to be caught staring Harry Potter, the _Slytherin_. I wished I hadn't refused Draco's offer. If only I had gone and sat with him, then I would have at least _one_ friend in this house.

A big prefect whose name I had already forgotten stood up on a skull-covered chair and declared that it was time for bed.

"First year dormitories are right through that door, there," he informed us, pointing one fat finger towards a green-lit doorway. I stood hesitantly and walked through the doorway, tripping over a haphazardly placed skull and catching myself by pressing a thin, pale hand against the stone floor. I shivered; it was _cold_.

Draco grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

"Come on, Potter. Are you going to stay down forever?"

I straightened and he immediately let go of my arm. I mumbled a quick thank you and pushed past him, continuing my way down the hallway.

Once inside the dormitory, I looked around. It was dark, for one, and there were no windows. Three sets of bunk beds were pushed up against the stone walls. I ran my hand along the smooth black wood, looking at each bed. A silver name tag rested on each bedspread, each of which was emerald green with silver lining. The fluffy pillow was the opposite: silver with green lining.

I finally found my name tag and saw my trunk pushed up against the wall next to the bed. I peeked at the top bunk. 'Draco Malfoy' was written in glistening green ink. Fighting off a groan, I flopped onto my own mattress.

Draco was the first one in behind me, followed by four boys I didn't know. They each found their respective beds and sat unceremoniously upon them.

"Most of us here know each other, but just in case someone doesn't," the boy speaking threw a pointed glance towards me, "maybe we should review our names. I'm Theodore Nott, pureblood." Nott glanced toward Draco.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, pureblood."

"I'm Blaise Zabini, pureblood," said a tall boy with dark hair and cold blue eyes.

"Vincent Crabbe, pureblood." A boy with extremely muscular arms and a pudding-bowl haircut.

"Gregory Goyle, pureblood." Goyle was just as muscular as Crabbe, but with short little bristles for hair.

"I-I'm Harry — "

"Don't bother," Zabini spat. "We already know who _you_ are."

" — Potter," I finished quietly. "Half-blood."

No one said anything to me. I looked around self-consciously; I was the only one who wasn't a pureblood.

"I'm going to bed," I said, standing up awkwardly. The silence was unbearable. I opened up my trunk and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of pajama-pants. They were old and faded, overlarge and baggy, with rips and tears. I tried to hide them, but everyone had already seen them. Nott snickered. Curses and muffled laughter filled the room.

Draco was the only one who was silent. Embarrassed, I pulled them on hastily and jumped onto my bed, pulling the emerald hangings around my bed so hard that they were ripped from the rings and fell to the floor. I turned towards the stone wall, away from the rest of the boys.

"_Reparo,_" came Draco's whisper. I was suddenly engulfed in darkness. I turned around and looked at where the broken hangings had lie a moment ago. They now hung on the rings again, good as new.

"Thank you," I whispered. Draco turned over and didn't reply.

"Goodnight, Scarhead," Goyle sneered, and I just turned over and closed my eyes, pretending that their words didn't hurt.

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**What did you think? Was it good? Bad? Unbearable? Leave a review and tell me what you thought. :)**


	5. Chapter 4

**Here's another one! :)**

**Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter. It all belongs to JK Rowling.**

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Chapter 4

The next morning I awoke early, before any of the other boys in the dormitory. I escaped quickly into the cold corridor outside of the Slytherin common room, happy to get away from all the ridicule. I decided that I would go down to breakfast early. The details of the Great Hall I remembered vividly. How to get there, not so much. I resigned myself to wandering aimlessly through passages and corridors, up and down staircases, falling into trick steps and opening fake doors. The portraits watched me. I watched them just as carefully — I had never seen a moving painting before. I was so fascinated that I didn't even notice the approaching footsteps.

"Potter!" a deep voice demanded. Startled, I spun around, turning my back to the portrait I had been examining. It was Professor Snape, the dark, frightening Potions professor who I had seen at dinner the night before. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I-I couldn't sleep, sir. And I got lost trying to get to the Great Hall."

"The Great Hall is on the other side of the castle, Potter." He spat my name like I had done something wrong to him. Everyone spoke to me that way here.

"Sorry, sir. I'll get over there right away," I stammered, and turned to hurry away. Professor Snape grabbed the back of my robes.

"Not so fast, Potter. Why did you not simply wait in your dormitory or common room for the other boys to wake?"

"Well, sir, you see, the other Slytherins don't exactly _like_ me." I averted my gaze. The stone floor suddenly seemed very interesting. Maybe he could help. . . . He _was_ the Head of Slytherin.

"Well, I advise that you learn to get along with them. They will be your classmates for the next seven years."

"Y-Yes, sir." I should have expected it. No one ever cared enough to help me.

He gave me a calculating glance. Then he turn and stalked off, pausing only to call over his shoulder, "I would get going if I were you, Potter. Next time I catch you wandering, I won't be quite so lenient." The professor's black robes twirled dramatically as he left, and I watched him march off, transfixed for a moment. Then I too left the place of our meeting.

By the time I had made it down to the Great Hall, breakfast was already served. Half of the school sat at the tables for their respective houses. The other half, I suspected, were still in bed.

As I made my way over to the Slytherin table, Professor Snape sent me a suspicious look from the head table. I ignored it and peeked at the golden platters on the table. They were all piled high with fresh food — steaming eggs, sizzling bacon, buttered toast with a multitude of jam flavors on the side, fluffy pancakes stacked atop one another, thick square waffles with cool maple syrup dripping temptingly off the edges. I quickly spotted Draco and the rest of the first year Slytherins, and I moved to the other end of the table where a couple of older boys sat.

"Hello!" I said cheerfully as I began spooning eggs onto my plate. They glanced at me briefly before returning to their own plates. "I'm Harry Potter. Who are you?"

"Marcus Flint," the first boy said quietly. He was muscular, with dark hair and deep-set black eyes. The other boy didn't answer. Flint glanced at him before looking back to me. Then he realized who I was. "Why are you sitting here?" he snarled.

"What? I was just looking for a place to sit. I'm sorry if I offended you." I looked up, confused about his sudden personality change.

"You most certainly did," Flint snapped, gripping me under the arms and hoisting me out of the seat. "Now, leave." Too shocked to say anything else, I listened.

I ate in silence, all alone at the very end of the table like the night before. The food must have been good, because I had eaten it quickly and everyone else was scarfing it down, but I was unable to taste it. Marcus Flint's reaction when he had realized who I was played through my head over and over. Upset, I stood up and suddenly stomped out of the Great Hall. Maybe Ron would talk to me.

I sat in the entrance hall, next to the double doors that led into the Great Hall. The doors to the rest of the grounds were before me. Suddenly the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher, emerged. She handed me a thick piece of parchment.

"Your schedule, Mr. Potter." I took it politely.

"Thank you, Professor." I glanced over my classes. My first lesson was Potions with Professor Snape. McGonagall granted me a curt nod and slipped back through the doors.

After a few long minutes, Ron and a girl with bushy brown hair left the Great Hall. I ran forward and grabbed Ron's arm.

"Oi! Get off of me, you stupid snake!" he exclaimed, pulling his arm free of my loose grasp. I recoiled, shocked and hurt.

"But-but Ron!" I protested, fighting the tears of rejection that were threatening to fall. "We hung out on the train! We had fun! Remember?"

"Of course I remember. But if you were going to go off and get yourself sorted into Slytherin, you should have gone and sat with Malfoy." He spat the words in my face.

"Draco Malfoy is a prick."

"Agreeing with me won't get you anywhere," Ron snapped.

"That wasn't my point. Can't we still be friends?" I begged.

"You're a Slytherin. No. The answer has to be no."

"Don't be like that, Weasley! It's a stupid prejudice — a petty hatred. Can't you get over it?"

"No, Potter, I can't. Go hang out with your fellow snakes and leave us alone. We don't associate with evil little liars." He began walking away. The bushy-haired girl followed.

"What?" But Ron was already gone.

Turning quickly, I ran to my dormitory. I threw myself onto my bed and drew the curtains around me hastily. Then I just sat there and cried until it was time to leave for Potions.

I cried because I had been wrong. Hogwarts was no different than Privet Drive. No one cared.

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**Review please!**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N - So, I just wanted to let you know that from this point on in the story, there is going to be some dialogue taken _directly_ from the book. This story is going to follow the story line of the book to a certain extent, but I'm going to change a lot of it around.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter! It all belongs to JK Rowling.**

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Chapter 5

Potions class was in the dungeons. It seemed like such a fitting place for Professor Snape. As I walked, I thought about everything that had happened since I had left to come to Hogwarts.

I had been so amazed and excited before I had gotten on the train. Then I had met Ron and we had shared chocolate frogs and laughs and stories. I had turned Draco against me without meaning to. Then I was sorted into Slytherin. Now everyone hates me, even Ron. So I'm alone, in a hell of a big school.

When I arrived, the first thing I noticed was that it was much colder than the Great Hall, rather like the Slytherin common room at night. Glass jars holding pickled animals in colored liquid lined the walls. It gave me a creepy feeling, but I didn't let it get to me. The common room gave me the same feeling.

We filed in quickly and took our seats. I sat alone (no surprises there). I quickly discovered that we had Potions with the Gryffindors, and avoided Weasley's glare. The bushy-haired girl was with him again, and when they walked past me, she introduced herself as Hermione Granger. They settled in at the table to my left, but I ignored them completely, staring toward the front of the classroom and slightly dreading another encounter with Professor Snape.

He stalked in not long after everyone was seated, and the room was suddenly quiet. He was just the kind of person that you didn't even _think_ about misbehaving around.

Professor Snape was tall and thin, with greasy black hair that hung to his shoulders and a large, hooked nose. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they were cold and a lot more indifferent.

He took roll call, and when he came to my name, paused.

"Ah, yes," he said, "Harry Potter. Our new — _celebrity_."

Crabbe and Goyle laughed quietly. Draco smirked, looking at Snape, who finished calling off names and began speaking again.

"You are hear to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." He spoke very softly, but the entire class was silent, so it was easy to hear him. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

The room was silent after he finished, and I thought to myself that it would have been a very good speech if he hadn't added the last line.

"Potter!" came Snape's low voice, and I snapped to attention. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

I hadn't understood a word of his question. I glanced helplessly around the room, and noted Hermione Granger's eager hand in the air.

"I don't know, sir," I replied quietly. Snape sneered and remarked that fame clearly wasn't everything, pointedly ignoring Granger.

I wanted nothing more to tell him that he knew nothing about my life, but I figured that getting a detention on the first day of school wouldn't make a very good impression on anyone.

"Let's try again," Snape continued. "Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand shot up again, looking as if she was reaching desperately for the ceiling. I was getting a very bad feeling that I was going to do very bad in this glass. I had never heard of a bezoar before in my life. Was it a food? A plant? A nut? I could see Crabbe and Goyle shaking with laughter. Malfoy was smiling very widely into his hand.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Once again, Snape was wrong, because I had flipped through my books after I had bought them, but I suddenly couldn't remember anything. I held Snape's cold gaze defiantly.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione left her seat, her hand as high as she could reach.

"I don't know." I was getting fed up with Snape rather quickly, and began wishing that this class would end soon. I glanced at Hermione. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

I heard a few people laughing quietly, trying to hold it in, but I ignored them. Snape did not find it funny.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Everyone hastily began scratching out notes. "And a point will be taken from Slytherin House for your cheek, Potter," Snape added.

We began working on the potion Snape had instructed us to concoct, a simple potion to cure boils. He stalked around, watching everyone weigh and crush ingredients. He criticized everyone except Draco, who seemed to be his favorite. Snape was just showing how Draco had perfectly stewed his horned slugs when acid green smoke and hissing filled the classroom. The boy who had fallen in the lake, whose name was Neville Longbottom, had melted another Gryffindor's cauldron. The potion seeped across the stone floor, burning holes in shoes and forcing everyone to stand on their stools. Red boils began popping up all over Longbottom's arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" sneered Snape. He waved his wand, and the potion immediately vanished. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Boils began to sprout on Longbottom's nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape snapped to the boy whose cauldron had melted. His name was Seamus Finnigan. Then he rounded on me.

"You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Slytherin."

This was unfair, and I just about opened his mouth to argue when I thought better of it and looked away. The Slytherins were going to kill me.

An hour later I left the dungeons with the rest of the class, somewhat upset. I hadn't done anything to Snape, so why did he hate me?

My next class was Charms, so I made my way silently to the warmer part of the castle and sat down, alone once again. The teacher, a tiny little wizard named Professor Flitwick, was trying to teach us to levitate objects. Everyone failed, of course, except Granger, who successfully levitated her feather into the air on her fourth try. Weasley watched her a bit jealously after that. Professor Flitwick awarded Gryffindor points, and I tried harder than ever to levitate my own feather. The closest I ever got was a infinitesimal little twitch of the feather. I left in a worse mood still.

This was not going to be a good year for me. I was new to the wizarding world, and it was obvious. I didn't hold my wand right, I couldn't get the hang of any spells, and I was average at best at mixing up potions.

Upset and angry at myself, I stalked down to lunch.

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	7. Chapter 6

**Couldn't sleep last night, so I was up all night writing.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. It all belongs to JK Rowling.**

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Chapter 6

Lunch was uneventful. Breads, meats, and cheeses were arranged perfectly on platters. Lettuce, tomatoes, and a variety of condiments lay off to the side. I put together a turkey sandwich for myself, and ate it quickly. The morning had been bad, but maybe the afternoon would be a bit better. Those classes at least seemed a bit more interesting. Defense against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration.

Professor Quirrell taught Defense. I had met him before, walking through the Leaky Cauldron on the way to Diagon Alley. He seemed nice enough, but he spoke with a stutter and was always looking over his shoulder. He wore a big purple turban wrapped around his head, which did make him look rather odd. It was clear that not everyone here made the best fashion choices.

I looked down the table at the uniforms. Girls wore skirts, long white socks, and black shoes, with a white collared shirt, a black sweater vest emblazoned with their house emblem, and a tie which was their house colors. Boys wore black trousers and black shoes, with white collared shirts and black sweater vests identical to those the girls wore, along with the house tie. Black robes were worn over them.

_Then again,_ I thought, _the teachers are the only ones who _can_ make bad fashion choices. Us students are required to look professional._

A bit _too_ professional. Anyone who was out of dress code would immediately have points taken from their house.

I had started into my second sandwich, this one roast beef. The food here was just so _good_. Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their faces next to Draco, who was eating his sandwich much more politely. I sighed and looked up toward the head table.

Professor McGonagall, who had given me my schedule in the entrance hall earlier, taught Transfiguration. It seemed like a rather cool subject, turning one object into a completely different object, but it sounded very hard. McGonagall was a tall woman with a very stern face. Her hair was black, and kept up in a tight bun. She also seemed like a woman who was not to be crossed.

Once I finished my sandwich, I hurried to the dormitory and pulled out my books. There was still ten minutes left until class, but I didn't want to be late and, as I had discovered this morning, the school was big and it was very easy to get lost. So I set out for Professor Quirrell's classroom. I found it quickly and stood toward the back of the group of students waiting to be let in.

I had been somewhat excited for Defense, because it seemed interesting, but I quickly discovered that Quirrell's class was a joke. His room smelled suspiciously like garlic, and his turban smelled odd as well, making me wonder if he had stuffed the garment with the herb to ward off demons, particularly a vampire he said he had met in Romania. He told us that he had gotten the turban as a thank-you gift from an African prince for disposing of a troublesome zombie, but I wasn't sure I believed him. When Finnigan had eagerly asked for a description of his battle with the zombie, Quirrell had avoided the question and began nervously talking of the weather.

As I left, Quirrell called after me, "G-good job today, P-P-Potter."

I couldn't find the Transfiguration classroom and showed up ten minutes late. McGonagall looked at me sternly and offered to transfigure me or my bag into a pocket watch. I sat down quickly, blushing. Weasley sniggered and I shot him an angry glare, which shut him up immediately.

"As I was saying," McGonagall said, picking up where she had been before I had wandered in, "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Everyone sat up slightly straighter. She waved her wand impressively and turned her desk into a pig and back again, which made everyone very excited. However, we quickly discovered that _that_ kind of transfiguration was much more advanced. We were given matches and told to turn them into needles. Granger was once again the closest to succeeding, and McGonagall showed off her work, which was a strange mixture between a match and a needle (the match had become all pointy and silver).

At the end of the day, I fell asleep immediately, before any of the other boys were in the dormitory. I slept much better, seeing as I didn't have the insults of the others to dwell on.

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	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. It all belongs to JK Rowling.**

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Chapter 7

The next week passed quickly. I was getting used to the magical world. All my classes were coming along nicely, even if I wasn't doing as well with all the spells as I had hoped. There was loads of homework, and it was only the first week of school.

As I made my way back to the common room to drop off my books before dinner, I found a notice tacked on the wall. My last class had been a particularly boring one, seeing as it had been History of Magic with Professor Binns, who was a ghost and droned on and on about the most boring subjects during all of his lectures, and at first I found it a bit hard to read the fine print on the parchment. I forced my eyes to focus and discovered that we were starting flying lessons with the Gryffindors on Thursday.

Draco had been going on and on about how good he was at flying a broom and playing Quidditch, which was a fascinating game played on broomsticks. I wasn't quite sure if he was exaggerating or not, so it would be nice to see how talented he really was. Besides, all his bragging had made me interested in broomsticks and Quidditch, and I couldn't wait to fly. But I really didn't want to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of everyone. . . . Then everyone would be gossiping about how Harry Potter was horrible at flying.

At dinner, I caught Draco's arm. He looked a bit shocked that I had approached him at first, but his countenance immediately brightened when I told him about the flying lesson.

"Can't wait to show those Gryffindors whose best," he smirked, and strutted off to go find Zabini.

At breakfast on Thursday, I was becoming nervous about the flying lesson. I watched anxiously as the morning mail was flown in by all the owls, not that I was expecting anything. I hadn't received a single letter since I had arrived. Even Hagrid had begun to stay away from me. I guess he hadn't anticipated me being sorted into Slytherin. No one had, I think.

As I slowly ate my bowl of sugary oatmeal, I noticed a barn owl bring a package to Longbottom. He opened it excitedly and showed everyone a glass ball full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained happily, and continued talking about how it worked. The smoke inside the Remembrall suddenly turned scarlet, and I watched Longbottom's face fall. He must have forgotten something.

As I watched, Draco snatched the Remembrall from his hand. Weasley and Finnigan jumped up immediately, but Professor McGonagall was suddenly by their side.

"What's going on?" she asked sternly.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Longbottom complained.

Draco set the glass ball back on the table, scowling, and left.

That afternoon, I hurried out to the grounds. I didn't want to be late for the first flying lesson. The sky was clear, and a breeze rustled the trees and rippled through the grass.

There were twenty broomsticks lying neatly on the ground. The teacher, Madam Hooch, showed up immediately. She had short, gray hair and yellow eyes. I thought she looked rather like an owl.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she demanded. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

I looked down at my old broom, then glanced over at Draco, who was standing next to me. He was smirking.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!'"

Every voice shouted "UP!" obediently.

My broom flew immediately into my hand, but as I looked around I saw many still laying on the ground. Draco was holding his broom confidently, as was Weasley. Longbottom's broom hadn't moved the slightest bit.

We learned how to mount our brooms without sliding off the end and she quickly corrected our grips.

Madam Hooch began counting down, but before she had finished, Longbottom was rising into the air. As we all watched, he rose nearly twenty feet into the air and then slipped sideways and fell from his broom. He landed in a heap on the grass.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch muttered, and helped him up. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Longbottom, who was now crying, walked off with Madam Hooch. As soon as they were gone, Draco began laughing.

"Look!" he said, snatching the dropped Remembrall from the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

He held it up.

"Don't, Draco," I said quietly. "Just drop it."

"What's that, Potter? Sticking up for a Gryffindor?"

"Just . . . just give it to me," I demanded uneasily, taking a deep breath.

"No, I don't think I will," Draco drawled, and jumped onto his broom, flying up towards the top of the trees. He really _was_ a talented flyer. "How bad do you want it, Potter?"

I jumped on my broom and soared into the air until I was level with Draco. Flying was _wonderful_. It was finally something that came naturally to me, and I loved it.

"How bad do you want it?" Draco repeated, much quieter this time.

"I don't care about Longbottom or the Remembrall, but you really shouldn't take what isn't yours, Draco," I replied honestly.

"Then I won't take it," he sneered, and pulled his arm back and threw the Remembrall as far as he could. I took off after it, and caught it securely in my hand just before I hit the castle wall. I looked into the window I had almost crashed through a moment before, and saw a very shocked Professor McGonagall looking back at me. Flying back to the ground, I walked straight over to Weasley.

"Give this to your friend, Weasley."

He held the Remembrall in his hand, surprised I had given it back.

I turned around and stalked back toward the Slytherin end of the field.

Suddenly Professor McGonagall was running across the grounds.

"HARRY POTTER!" she exclaimed. "_Never_ — in all my time at Hogwarts — how _dare_ you — might have broken your neck —"

She led me away, and I looked back miserably to see all the Slytherins except Draco smirking widely. I was going to be expelled for sure.

"Um — Professor?" I stammered as we marched quickly through the corridors and down staircases. "Am I going to be expelled?"

"Expelled? Heavens no, Potter!"

"But then where are you taking me?"

"We are going to see Professor Snape. He is your Head of House, is he not, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, he is but. . ."

We suddenly arrived outside a black wooden door, much like the material that our beds were made out of. We were in the dungeons, and I wondered how far we were from the Potions classroom.

McGonagall knocked sharply on the door three times.

"Come in," came Snape's low voice.

We entered quietly, and McGonagall motioned for me to sit.

"Minerva. And. . . Mr. Potter. To what do I owe this visit?" he sneered.

McGonagall answered, "I think you should talk to Mr. Potter about Quidditch. He nearly crashed through my office window on a broomstick a moment ago." She turned and left. I avoided Snape's gaze.

"Care to tell me what happened, Mr. Potter? Or are you going to sit there staring at my desk forever?"

I looked up. "It was nothing, really. Longbottom fell off his broom and broke his wrist, so Madam Hooch took him up to the hospital wing. While she was gone, Draco found Longbottom's Remembrall in the grass. I told him that he shouldn't take what isn't his. He threw it toward the castle, and I caught it right in front of the wall of the castle, nearly colliding with the window in Professor McGonagall's office. That's all, sir."

"This was your first time on a broom, Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just like his father," he muttered under his breath, then looked back at me. "Well, it seems as if you're a natural flyer, doesn't it, Mr. Potter?"

"I—"

"I _could_ put you on the Quidditch team as our new Seeker. But we wouldn't want our precious Harry Potter to get hurt, would we?"

"Sir!" I protested.

"Fine, Potter, but the decision isn't really up to me. Come with me." He stood and led me out the door.

We walked through the corridors again and stopped outside Quirrell's classroom.

Snape poked his head in the door and barked, "Flint! I need you for a moment!"

Marcus Flint, the boy I had met at breakfast the week before slipped through the door.

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

"We may have found a new Seeker, Flint."

"Really," Flint said, looking at me with a bit more interest. "Is he good?"

"Minerva said he flew toward the castle, caught a Remembrall, and righted himself right in front of her office window. Nearly crashed through it, as I understood." Snape looked at me.

"Yes, sir."

Flint grinned. "Well, we'll have to get you a broom. Professor, do you think you could —?"

"I'll talk to Dumbledore about it," Snape interrupted. "You're free to go, Flint. And Potter, get back to class."

At dinner that night, Draco was furious.

"You're on the _Quidditch team_?" he exclaimed angrily. "First years _never_ make the team! Besides, you don't even have a broomstick."

"Marcus Flint and Professor Snape are taking care of it," I replied nonchalantly, taking a bite of steak. I grinned and dug enthusiastically into my pie.

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	9. Chapter 8

**Thanks for all the reviews! :)**

**Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter. It all belongs to JK Rowling.**

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Chapter 8

It was late and we were all in bed by the time I realized that I had forgotten my Potions book in the Trophy Room. I had been looking at the Quidditch awards. Snape had mentioned my father, and I wanted to find him. Sure enough, he had played Seeker for the Gryffindor house team when he was in school.

I had Potions tomorrow and I couldn't just leave my book in there, so I quietly got out of bed and wrapped my cloak around me. I made my way to the door of the dormitory as silently as I could, but when I reached the hallway that led to the common room I tripped on the same skull and fell to the ground with a yelp.

Not wanting to get up, I just let myself lie on the ground for a few moments, enjoying the coolness of the stone floor against my cheek.

"_Lumos,_" I heard a quiet voice say. Suddenly I was bathed in wandlight. I blinked harshly, and found myself staring up at Draco.

"Why are lying on the ground, Potter? Surely you're not hurt?" he asked, without a hint of concern in his voice. "Where are you going anyway?"

"I forgot my Potions book in the Trophy Room earlier."

"And you decided that _now_ was a good time to get it?"

"We have Potions tomorrow. . . . How did you know I was here?"

"You're not exactly the quietest, you know," he replied, rolling his eyes. "And you just tripped quite loudly."

"Right." I jumped to my feet. "Well, I'll be going now, so you can go back to bed."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming with you!"

"What?"

"It's like a mission! Not the best partner, I'll admit," he said, looking me up and down, "but I'll have to make do."

"Hey!" I protested, but Draco was already making his way through the common room door, so I followed.

We crept quietly through the moonlit corridors and up staircases until we reached the third floor. We tiptoed quietly into the Trophy Room and looked around at the trophy cases shining in the moonlight.

I spotted my Potions book resting beside the golden plaque that my father's name was engraved into. I grabbed it quickly and tucked it under my arm.

"Okay, let's go," I whispered, and we began walking quickly toward the door. Suddenly Draco was sprawled on the ground to my right. I turned to help him up and watched as he thrust his hand toward the object he had tripped over. We looked at each other in horror as the wandlight revealed Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat.

"Oh, Merlin. We're in trouble," Draco hissed as Mrs. Norris ran off. We began tiptoeing toward the door as quietly as we could when we heard Filch speak.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

We scurried out the door.

"They're in here somewhere," Filch murmured, "probably hiding."

I motioned to Draco to follow me and began creeping down a corridor lined with suits of armor. We could hear Filch getting closer, and I picked the very worst time to stumble over my overlarge pajama-pants. I toppled onto Draco, who crashed into a suit of armor.

"Run!" I yelled, not bothering to keep my voice down, and we sprinted down the hall. We ran through corridors and secret passages, ripped through tapestries, and came out somewhere near the Charms classroom.

"I think we've lost him," I panted. Draco looked at me.

"We have to get back to our dorm. Fast."

"Let's go."

Not long after they started walking, however, Peeves shot out of a classroom and caught sight of them. He squealed happily.

"Shut up, Peeves — please — you'll get us thrown out," I hissed. Peeves only laughed.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please," I begged again.

"Should tell Filch, I should. It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," Draco snapped impatiently, and swiped at him.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves began shouting immediately, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

We began running again, all the way down the corridor until we ran into a door — a locked door.

"Oh, no!" I moaned. Filch was sprinting toward us; we could hear his footfalls.

"_Alohomora!_" Draco whispered, and the lock clicked. The door swung open and we slipped through quickly, shutting it behind us and listening carefully. Peeves was frustrating Filch.

Then I decided to turn around, and immediately wished that I hadn't. It was obvious that we were in the forbidden corridor on the third floor, because it was now easy to see why it was forbidden. A monstrous three-headed dog filled the whole space between the ceiling and the floor. And it was growling.

Draco reached for the doorknob, terrified, and threw open the door. We tumbled out and slammed the door behind us. With a glance at each other, we both began sprinting as fast as we could through the castle. We dashed into the common room and collapsed into armchairs.

"Oh, Merlin," I said. "What are they _thinking_ keeping that dog here?"

"I don't know, but did you see what it was standing on?" Draco panted, looking very, _very_ scared.

"The floor?" I questioned. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor."

"It must be guarding something, then."

"Guess so," Draco murmured.

As we made our way back to bed, I couldn't stop thinking about what the dog was guarding. Back at Gringotts, Hagrid had taken a dirty little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen.

I had a feeling that I knew where Hagrid had put it.

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	10. Chapter 9

***cowers in corner* Okay, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean for it to take that long. I got distracted and didn't necessarily know where I wanted to go with the story. Then I started high school and I've just been _busy._ But really, I'm sorry. So, to make it up to you, I'm going to _try_ (and really, really try) to update once a week. I don't know where that will go, though, because the last time I said that I updated something like three times in a week then left for three months. Anyways, leave a review. I love to hear what you think. They really do make my day. :)**

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Chapter 9

The next morning, Draco had gone back to ignoring me completely. I made my way down to breakfast and walked past the Gryffindors to get to the Slytherin table. Weasley turned completely around in his seat, mouth open and blue eyes wide. He had, of course, not heard the news that I was on the Quidditch team and clearly expected that I would have been on the train last night, if not this morning. I smirked as I passed him.

"Mind the flies, Weasley. They are rather nasty this time of year." His jaw closed with an audible click, and I grinned wider.

Like always, I sat at the end of the table. To my surprise, Marcus Flint came and sat beside me.

Owls swooped in through the window as the morning mail arrived, and I was very surprised when six large birds dropped a long, thin package in front of me. I ignored my waffles and immediately reached to open it, but Flint stopped me.

"Don't open it," he hissed. "It contains your broomstick."

I turned back to my breakfast, the corners of my mouth twitching up involuntarily.

As soon as I had finished eating, I grabbed my packaged broomstick and hurried out the door. Draco stopped me.

"That's a broomstick, Potter. First years aren't allowed them."

"Professor Dumbledore made an exception, since I'm on the house team now."

Draco looked disappointed. "Right."

Weasley burst through the doors. He snatched it from my hands and examined the package carefully.

"Broomstick? You'll be in for it now," he sneered. "A Nimbus Two Thousand, by the feel of it."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Draco snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Weasley glared and stomped away. Granger was nowhere to be seen. Once he was gone, Draco and I ran to the common room and found it completely empty. I set the package on the floor and stared at it for a moment.

"Well, go on. Open it!" Draco urged. I ripped open the package. There sat a beautiful, sleek broom. Every twig was aligned perfectly on the neat tail and, written in gold lettering near the top of the mahogany handle were the words "Nimbus Two Thousand." I gazed in awe at the broomstick. It was something new to me, a stark symbol of my magic in contrast to my shabby muggle clothes. I had a wand, but anybody could pick up an ordinary tree branch, fashion it to their desired length and flexibility, and call it a "wand."

I turned to Draco, who was staring hard at the broom, as if trying to find a fault that was not there. "It's really all thanks to you that I have it, too." He glanced at me, looking as if he was about to protest, then turned his gaze ruefully back to the perfect broomstick.

"Guess so."

"Hey, guess what!" I said, trying to cheer him up a bit. "Flint is teaching me all about Quidditch after class. It'll be great to learn about a sport that everyone here seems to know all about."

Draco seems to regain some of his normal personality. "As in, you _don't know_ about Quidditch?" He laughed aloud. "Where did you grow up? Even your Mudblood mother should have known better than to send you to a home where you grow up as a Muggle. I guess she wasn't as smart as everyone says she is. Imagine _that_, Harry Potter believing himself a Muggle!" Draco laughed again. I shied away from him, automatically curling into a ball to brace myself for the blow that was sure to come with his cruel taunting. That's what Uncle Vernon always did, at least.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, bringing my hands up to protect my head.

Draco gave me a strange look. "What the hell are you apologizing for? And why are you sitting like that? Get up!" He pulled me to my feet. I dusted myself off cautiously, still keeping my eye out for the punch that was about to be thrown. I inevitably thought of the time Aunt Petunia had hit me in the head with the hot, bacon-greased pan and knocked me out for two whole days.

Draco muttered a quick "never mind then" and started towards the door.

"Wait! Do you want to take a ride on my broom, tonight? After my lesson?"

Draco turned around scornfully. "Take a ride on _your_ broomstick? Thanks, but I'll pass," he replied, sounding as if he was not thankful at all.

After all the day's classes, I headed down to the Quidditch pitch, ecstatic about learning more about flying and this strange new game that was played in the air. I could not wait to fly again, so I kicked off and began swooping across the field. The wind whipped at my hair and pulled my Muggle clothes tight against my body. (I had not wanted my robes to billow awkwardly behind me.)

"Potter, you're pretty decent, but quit messing around! Get down here!" Flint yelled suddenly, and I looked down, startled, to find him watching me. I flew down quickly and in my hurry, stumbled over my over-baggy jeans. I caught myself just before I fell, however, and looked up sheepishly. "Got to work on that landing, eh, Potter? And wear some real clothes!" he added distastefully, looking me up and down.

I waited for him to open the trunk that he had brought with him. Inside were four balls — a big red one, two smaller black ones, and one tiny golden one. He told me the name and function of each in turn. The big red one was called the Quaffle and, when thrown through one of the big metal hoops on either side of the pitch, scored the team ten points. The two smaller black ones were called Bludgers, and tried to knock players off their brooms. And finally, Flint picked up the little golden ball. Two small wings unfolded and began fluttering gently.

"This," he began, "is the golden Snitch. It is very, very special. You see, the Chasers get the Quaffle, the Beaters get the Bludgers, but the Seeker — and that's you — gets the Snitch. Throughout the game, the Snitch flies around the pitch. It's very small, very fast, and very hard to catch. But when it is caught, it is worth one hundred and fifty points and the game ends. Usually the team that catches the Snitch wins, but not always. If the other team is more than one hundred and fifty points ahead, they still win." He went on to describe the various positions.

"There are three Chasers who try to get the Quaffle through the hoops by throwing or kicking it. Two Beaters are on each team, and they use bats to hit the Bludgers away from their own team and towards the opponent. The Keeper guards the hoops, and can use any means possible to block the Quaffle. And then, of course, there is the Seeker, who flies around and tries to catch the Snitch before the opposing Seeker does.

"Okay, get on your broom. We'll be using golf balls tonight so we don't lose the Snitch."

I spent the rest of the evening chasing after the golf balls that Flint threw in every direction. His face glowed with suppressed glee when I caught every one. When it got too dark to see anything, we put everything away and walked up to dinner together.

"I don't know, Potter. I mean, you're pretty good, but it's hard to tell if you've got what it takes to win the Quidditch Cup for us. Keep practicing hard and we might just make it," Flint rambled as we entered the castle. I continued walking, happy for the first time since I had arrived at Hogwarts.

Dinner was a quiet event, I asked Flint to sit with me so I could ask him questions, and fired them off nonstop until he told me to give him time to eat and answer. I laughed quietly.

"So what exactly constitutes as a foul during the match?" I asked, digging into a sizable slice of steak.

He looked at me. "Usually anything that hurts another player." He leaned in close and whispered the next sentence so quietly that I had to strain my ears to hear it. "But Slytherins never play by the rules." The wicked grin on his face scared me so much that I slid away from him a bit.

Flint was still eating when I finished my dinner. I stood up slowly and began making my way to the double doors that led to the entrance hall.

"Hey, Potter!" I turned back towards the table. It was Flint again. "You know, you're really not so bad."

He watched my face carefully. It was the closest thing to a compliment I had ever gotten. I tried to grin but it felt all wrong. I guess it's hard to smile when you've never known how.


End file.
